


Wedding Bells

by falsteloj



Category: Original Work
Genre: Coming Out, Homophobic Language, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Misogyny, POV First Person, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-14
Updated: 2017-01-14
Packaged: 2018-10-31 17:09:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10903773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/falsteloj/pseuds/falsteloj
Summary: Inspired by a Writer's Digest prompt - It's your main character's wedding day, when something goes terribly wrong. Write a short story about what happens.





	Wedding Bells

**Author's Note:**

> I found this while clearing out some old memory sticks. I wrote this in like 2005 or something, which almost makes it vintage now! ;D

The hall is silent, every eye upon me as I take the microphone from the bride’s perfectly manicured hand. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. 

Fuck, it wasn’t supposed to happen at all. 

I'll be honest, I was shocked when Darren asked me to be his best man in the first place. After everything that had happened between us in the last few months, well, I wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d have banned me from the wedding altogether.

It probably would have been better for everyone concerned if I had have been. If someone had told me a few years back I’d ruin the “happiest” day of my best mate’s life just by turning up, I’d have laughed. To be honest, back then, I would probably have just punched them square in the face. I was like that then.

Darren was always the sensible one, the sensitive one, the 'gay' one. I’ve lost count of the times I’ve thumped someone for suggesting he might bat for the other team. The bones I’ve broken for suggesting we might be more than good mates. Ironic really, isn’t it?

Juliette stumbles off the stage, the hem of her once pristine white dress now black with dirt. Personally it strikes me as rather apt ‘cos she’d fucked everyone I knew before she set her sights on Darren. That was his problem, you know, low self esteem. Didn’t have the confidence to approach anyone so was blown away when a stunner like Juliette just swanned up to him and stuck a tongue in his ear. Was over the moon when she wanted to see him again. Was too desperate to get rid of her when she cheated on him time after time after time. 

Even when me and her got sloshed on the wine he’d bought for their anniversary and fucked in his bed.

The microphone’s still hanging, almost forgotten, from my numb fingers. His family glare at me, hers look down their snooty noses, all our old school mates twitter behind cupped hands. My gaze passes over them all till my eyes meet his; they glare defiantly at me, although the effect is negligible. With his black eye and cut, swollen lip all I can think is how much I want to go and kiss it better.

And, fuck knows, I never thought I’d feel like that. 

It all started when he came round to confront me over sleeping with Juliette. He never had with the others but, I suppose, it was too close to the bone for even him to let it lie. He’d been drinking, his eyes bright and his voice slightly slurred as he yelled at me. Honest to God, I felt bad enough about what I’d done. I told him it was a mistake, nothing but a drunken accident, and that it’d never ever be repeated.

The conciliatory Fosters had flowed, followed by the Smirnoff, the Jack Daniels and finally the half bottle of peach vodka even Terry hadn’t been able to finish off, it was so foul. It was about then I noticed how close we’d been sitting, thighs pressed tight on my tiny sofa. I’d started to notice a shit load of stuff about then – the inky sweep of lashes against strong cheekbones, the wiry athletics honed muscles in his arms as he lifted his glass to his lips, the bob of his adam’s apple as the liquid burned down his throat. Then we were kissing, not knowing who’d initiated it, although looking back I suppose it must have been me. 

Funny, innit? Juliette and me get it on and she ain’t bothered. Me and him get a bit close, and she does her nut.

Perhaps if I hadn’t waited until her wedding day to let her know.

Darren had been willing to forget about it the morning after. Put it down to too much drink and went back home to Juliette. It shook me up though, fucked up everything I thought I knew about myself. It was me who sought him out. Put all my experience to good use to sweet talk him into my bed, to convince him to take me to his. It was pathetic really. Me, the one who’d always had girls bend over backwards - sometimes literally - to have me take them home, reduced to pleading with a wallflower like Darren for a snog. 

Yeah, I had it  _that_  bad. 

Started to realise it wasn’t a new thing neither. 

All the times I’d talked Darren out of chatting a girl up, all the times I’d put him down to anyone who showed the slightest hint of interest. It had always been obvious. I wanted him to myself. I wanted him to focus all his interest on me. And, most of all, I wanted him to finish it with that slapper.

The sound of her sobbing brings me back to the present. Her mascara is streaked down her cheeks and I can’t find it in me to feel sorry. She doesn’t love him, doesn’t want anything more than a doormat too spineless to stop her spending his money and dumping all over him.

She won’t find it in Darren. I’m sorry for outing him like this, will never forgive myself for the resultant beating he got from Juliette’s brother.

But… 

It’s better now than later, better now than when he’s unknowingly raising some other guy’s kids. He only ever went this far because it was all organised months before I even fucked up and slept with Juliette.

I drop the microphone to the floor with a thud and push my way through the crowd. I don’t have to explain myself to them. I don’t have to explain it to anyone but him. If he’ll ever hear me out. It’s to my absolute fucking horror that I find tears on my cheeks when I swipe the back of my hand across them.

Later, stood on the balcony, rain lashing in icy torrents against my face, plastering the thin material of my dress shirt to my body, I hear his footsteps behind me. His battered face looks worse in the moonlight and I have to physically stop myself from reaching out and touching it. Waves of terror are crashing against the lining of my gut and it’s a struggle to breathe. I swear to God I won’t cry in front of him.

He doesn’t strike me, though I deserve it, doesn’t yell or scream or rage. Just trails surprisingly warm fingers down the side of my jaw and steps in close, his other arm sliding round my waist.

“I should have known asking you to be best man would end in disaster.” 

The quiet murmur makes me feel sick with guilt and I opened my mouth to voice the apology I swore I wouldn’t give but, before I can form the words, he places his finger against my lips and I suck in a startled breath at the contact. 

“I should have asked you to be the blushing bride instead.”

I should thump him, protest - _something_ \- but… one look at Darren’s lopsided grin and I couldn’t care if he wants me to shave my legs and try and squeeze into Juliette’s dress. It feels as if nothing could pierce the bubble of happiness encompassing me right now – he’s chosen me over her. 

He’s just walked away from everything he’s always wanted. 

For me.

I reach my hand out blindly, gripping his cold fingers in my own. The slight touch feels like birdsong and rainbows and all the other sickening crap that can never truly describe the utter indescribableness that is love. I lean in close to his ear, uncaring that it makes me a poof, an arsebandit - everything my father taught me to hate - and whisper,

“Yeah, you should’ve.”

**Author's Note:**

> As ever, feel free to chat / hit me with prompts over on Tumblr [@serenwib](http://serenwib.tumblr.com/) or Twitter [@falsteloj](https://twitter.com/falsteloj). :)


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